


Proioxis

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Series: light reading [10]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Manipulation, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Partnership, Pre-Canon, Sparring, Tension, Unresolved Tension, combat practice, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: Even though she has often seen him spar with the others, and he has watched her spar in turn, the two of them have never fought one another. She likes to think they do their battles best in words, but that above all, with him, there is nothing to win. The best form of attack would be not to engage at all. So no one is more surprised than Cheadle when she finds herself accepting his challenge. / Pariston x Cheadle





	Proioxis

**Author's Note:**

> _Proioxis_ was originally written and published on July 06, 2015 on [tumblr](https://cheadle-yorkshire.tumblr.com/post/123412104877/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-proioxis).
> 
> Everything below is preserved as it was originally posted:
> 
> **Title** : Proioxis  
>  **Word Count** : 2893 words  
>  **Pairing** : Pariston x Cheadle  
>  **Summary** : Even though she has often seen him spar with the others, and he has watched her spar in turn, the two of them have never fought one another. She likes to think they do their battles best in words, but that above all, with him, there is nothing to win. The best form of attack would be not to engage at all. So no one is more surprised than Cheadle when she finds herself accepting his challenge.  
>  **A/N** : Takes place ~2 years pre-Election Arc. Written for HxHWeek2015, option ‘2011 anime.’

_****_ ****

**_Proioxis_ **

Cheadle enters the room to bright lights and the steady, incessant sounds of a match in-progress. Pariston stands tall, his hands clasped behind his back. His shoulders shake as if from silent laughter. He’s also blocking her view.

She steps beside him—to the only open space in the line of her colleagues watching that day’s sparring match—and glances to her right. The space is more than generous; Mizaistom stands a whole two yards away, watching as Geru’s arms transform and stretch, blocking Netero’s advance. On his other side, Saiyuu vaults into the air, launching an attack. It connects with a roar of wind and pressure, but Netero does not fall. Instead, he grasps Saiyuu’s club with both hands, his arm muscles flexing, before he throws his hands up and Saiyuu goes flying. Geru doesn’t bother to catch him, creating her own attack in the aftermath, attempting to hit Netero from behind. He has to flip away to avoid it, but the second attack from her other arm hits, the snake biting into the flesh of his exposed arm. Cheadle looks at Pariston.

“Are you going to fight today? Rat.”

“I’m considering it.” He glances down at her, his expression amused, and it is as if his attention has shifted fully from the battle still in progress before them to the woman standing beside him, fixing her glasses. “I was just waiting for a worthy opponent.”

Her laugh is forced. “I’m not here to fight today, either.”

“Oh?” Beyond them, Saiyuu lands a punch, his weapon discarded in favor of a series of rapid-fire martial arts; one of Netero’s arms is still bound by one of Geru’s snakes. “Then why?”

“I needed a break,” Cheadle says. “And I enjoy watching the sparring matches. It helps to clear my head.”

“I enjoy watching you fight.” The corner of Pariston’s mouth quirks up, and Cheadle scowls, turning away. He’s not just talking about the sparring matches, that’s for sure.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Geru’s arm flattens and coils away from Netero—perhaps he’d concealed a weapon?—and returns to her side. Saiyuu does not even bother to speak to her, or discuss strategy—they make poor partners. She remembers watching Geru fight with Ging, or Piyon with Ginta—they’d worked together flawlessly. A particularly delightful memory resurfaces of the last time Pariston had sparred with Netero, and he’d kicked the rat clear across the room and into the far wall. The impact had been glorious, and there had been a delay of almost a month in repairs, to preserve the human-shaped indent in the wall for as long as possible.

He’d sat there in the rubble like it was a throne, withdrawing from the match and watching the others continue the fight with a dazed, delirious expression. She’d suspected a concussion, but when he finally rose, no less graceful than she’d ever seen him, his clothes were hanging from his body in tatters but he sported no injuries that she could see. He had looked past them all to her, his mouth twisted in a smile, and Cheadle had cursed herself for not using _Gyo_ , to better understand just what had happened. She has never let herself falter in that area since.

Saiyuu rolls to absorb the impact from a hit, and Geru takes his place, arms like whips as she moves faster and faster. Cheadle chances a look back at Pariston—his eyes are lit up with _Gyo_ , too, but he is almost exclusively following Netero’s movements instead of watching his opponents.

The sparring matches are just that—sparring, usually only hand-to-hand or weapons combat. It’s rare to see someone use an ability—there are only a few of the others’ Cheadle is aware of, and she has never shown hers either. There are just some things they’d prefer to keep private, for their own reasons. Cheadle believes it has less to do with what their _Nen_ abilities can do, and more for the sake of hiding their respective limitations.

The three jump back, breathing heavily, and Netero calls an end to the match. “Good job, good job! How’s your shoulder, Saiyuu?” 

“—hurts like hell, thanks—”

Geru passes the line of Zodiacs, moving towards the rack set up by the door, grabbing a towel to mop her face. It’s akin to the racks in the gym, but in addition to towels and bottles of sports drinks, an entire section is devoted to various knives and weapons.

Netero turns towards them, balancing his weight on one bare foot. “Ah, who’s next? Saccho?”

“Of course, Chairman—”

“Pariston? How about you?”

Saiyuu perks up, rolling one shoulder back. “He should join in. I’d love to punch him in the face—”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Pariston demures as his posture shifts, shoulders slumping as he lifts his arms up, his wrists limp. All at once he’s changed, dissolving any physical pretense of strength and control. Cheadle watches as Saiyuu’s eyes narrow and his mouth curves downward. “And ruin my nice jacket? I wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

“Tch. Let’s get started.” In a flash, Saiyuu has all but disappeared, moving with a _Nen_ -enhanced quickness in his legs. Saccho does his best to match and mirror him, but this match is not as compelling to Cheadle as the prior one had been and she finds her attention wandering back to Pariston as his back straightens and a curious smile returns to his mouth.

“Mizaistom.” It’s Geru’s voice, low and pleasant, the towel discarded. “Were you planning on sparring today?”

“Did you want a partner?” he asks. There is plenty of open space in the large, all-purpose room, with ceilings high enough for the _100-Type Guanyin Boddhisatva_ and walls wide enough for long-range attacks.

“I would like to practice some more,” she says. “I need to increase my speed.”

He nods and they depart for the unoccupied far side of the room, and Cheadle is left alone with Pariston. She can see Geru’s arms extend and snap out towards Mizaistom, the movement almost too fast to follow with her eyes. She thinks of employing _Gyo_ again, but decides against it. It feels almost like an intrusion, now that there are only two spectators.

“How about it?” Pariston asks, once again. “Would you like to spar, Cheadle?”

She hates the way he says her name, but it’s only the fact that he asks it like a real question, like he is not already certain of her answer, that makes her hesitate.

Even though she has often seen him spar with the others, and he has watched her spar in turn, the two of them have never fought one another. She likes to think they do their battles best in words, but that above all, with him, there is nothing to win. The best form of attack would be not to engage at all. So it is that she finds herself accepting his challenge with some small measure of incredulity.

His face lights up with surprise, and he lifts a hand to undo the single button on his blazer and slide it from his shoulders to toss it in a heap behind him. What useless theatrics. He doesn’t even have an audience, as the others are so engrossed in their own fights, where even one misstep could result in serious damage.

Underneath the blazer—navy, which has some strange silver detailing on the lapel and the pocket—he wears a light gray shirt and a narrow silver tie. There’s metallic thread in it, and Cheadle glances away, eyes twitching, as Pariston makes a show of rolling up his sleeves to the elbow.

“Shall we?” He gestures with one open arm towards the far left side of the room, leaving the middle for Netero and the right for Geru. Pariston does not move until Cheadle passes him, and then he falls into step beside her, even closer than they’d been standing before.

“So,” he continues, “did you have anything in particular you wanted to work on?”

She is already regretting this. “Why don’t we just try to have fun? Rat.”

His eyes gleam, and he strides forward; they circle one another, tense and ready to leap apart at the first sign of attack. Suddenly, he disappears, and she leaps to the side, skidding across the floor tiles when he reappears at her back. She registers feeling the barest brush of his fingers across her back—no _Nen_ , so not an attack, and she’s got _Gyo_ at the ready—and blocks his next punch with her elbow, launching one of her own armed with _Ryu_ towards his ribcage. He sidesteps it easily, and they circle one another again, this time at a faster pace.

It is difficult to see her feet beneath the layers of heavy skirts, but he can tell she is mirroring his footwork admirably.

“I admit, I find myself at a disadvantage,” Cheadle says. Her breathing is heavy, but she cannot stifle the pleased smile that stretches her face. Perhaps, like Saiyuu believes, routinely punching one’s colleagues is good for their working relationship.

“Oh? How so?”

She uses the distraction of her words to attack. He catches her punch, and she interlocks their fingers and _twists_ , bending his wrist. Her other hand grasps his tie and yanks him down; at her level it is easier to land a kick to his midsection, and although there isn’t much power behind it the fact that she is able to land it at all is enough to make the point. They separate, and Cheadle keeps her knees bent, already thinking of their next exchange, and the one after.

“Your limbs are longer than mine.” She smirks, extending one hand, her palm flat. While she’s been cycling through the various martial arts forms she knows—her repertoire is woefully limited, but she’ll take the opportunity to strengthen the ones she has—Pariston has yet to do anything the least bit creative, either with _Nen_ or with their hand-to-hand combat.

Her next move is a feint, acting like she’ll attack from one side, but she turns at the last second, palm extended, aiming for his jaw. He reacts faster than she’d accounted for, and traps her arm against his body before the strike can connect.

She’d planned for that, twisting again and dropping her shoulder; she’d trapped his arm just as surely as he’d trapped hers, and she is able to use the momentum to fling him over her shoulder and onto the ground.

He looks dazed for a moment, and Cheadle takes the opportunity to gloat, somewhat enjoying the view of Pariston sprawled out before her, his shirt rumpled and tie hanging loose. Then, he reaches out, grabbing her ankle and yanking, hard.

She goes sprawling just as he had, but she rolls to the side to try and maintain some semblance of grace. They both stagger to their feet; Pariston dusts off his hands.

“Your shorter limbs mean a lower center of gravity,” he says, _tsking_ a few times for good measure. “I’d hardly call you disadvantaged here, and certainly not for that reason.”

The subtle insult has her seething. “In a real fight, _Nen_ would make a bigger difference,” she says. “I would defeat you before you were even aware we had begun.”

“In a real fight,” he says, his aura glowing, “you could certainly _try_.”

He launches himself towards her at the same time she flips forward, attempting this time for an aerial assault. They end up missing one another, both attacks going wild, and when Pariston lands it is with an overzealous _Ko_ , leaving indentations from his _Nen_ -cloaked fists and shoes in the floor. They spin, and attempt it again.

This time, both attacks hit—his punch to her shoulder, hers to his back—and they stagger apart, her shoes skidding on the tiles.

Neither of them are particularly willing to call the other’s bluff. Cheadle’s primary ability is _defensive_ in nature, although she’s aware how strongly her medical applications of _Nen_ can hurt as well as heal. Pariston, in turn, is a complete mystery, and as they circle one another again she cannot help but make one more attempt to understand.

“I wonder,” she says, and his eyes are instantly drawn to her mouth, “if the reason you do not show us your ability has to do with a limitation that prevents it from being seen by anyone but the target.” It’s her best and most recent guess, and as her feet move to copy his, switching their positions in the circle, the high fluorescent light catches his eyes and makes them look so much larger.

Her pride and his surprise is short lived. Pariston thinks fast, as fast as he moves.

“I wonder,” he bites back, and takes a step towards her, breaking their pattern, “if your ability necessitates physical contact, and that’s why you cover yourself up like you do.” Cheadle falters, her feet taking uneven steps to the side, trying to reestablish the lost rhythm. “If I touch you, I wonder what would happen.”

“Nothing,” she says, meeting his eyes, her gloved hands balled into fists. “But I still won’t let you. Rat.”

He gives her a cold smile, using the full advantage of his height. “I’d still like to try.”

He charges again, launching out with sharp kicks and tight punches, using his incredible balance to twist and spin as she tries to dodge each. He never falters, as if his every misstep before had been only an act.

“You want to cause me pain, Pariston?” It’s her use of his name that halts him, and she takes advantage of it to punch him, in the same shoulder she’d hit earlier. Her gloves come away with flecks of blood. His shirt fares worse, but there’s something intrinsically appealing about watching the blood rise to the surface in rapidly blooming dots, darkening the gray. It’s silk, she thinks. The blood won’t come out.

A glance back confirms the awful truth that Geru and Mizaistom have ceased their sparring, and although they hold their last formation—Geru’s arms are extended, and Mizaistom grasps a card in one hand—they are turned towards Cheadle, watching their fight with twin looks of confusion—and in Mizaistom’s case, panic. A look at the others—Saccho and Saiyuu have paused, mid-fight, to watch them as well. Netero has his back turned, and he bends into a few complicated stretches, rising on one foot and stretching his arms out to the sides.

When she looks back, Pariston is bowing before her, and grasps one of her hands in his. He places a kiss on top, near the edge of her glove, his fingers searching for the thin band of skin between her glove and her sleeve. She rips her hand away.

“A draw, perhaps,” he says, and she finds herself nodding, suddenly aware of just how keenly she’d been manipulated.

“For now,” she adds, and he laughs, something low in his throat that won’t carry to the others’ ears. He brushes by her—the edge of his sleeve grazing hers, as if another reminder of the part of their sparring match that was conducted in words.

He reaches down for his jacket with unparalleled, unreserved grace, swinging it over his unbloodied shoulder and walking with smooth, even steps towards the door. He doesn’t look back, not at her or any of the others, and the silence lasts for only a moment after he leaves.

“Oy, are you so tired that you need a break from fighting? You’re not even a third my age, you should have plenty of strength in your body yet!”

Cheadle tries not to flinch. The trio continues to spar, their movements like blurs. In leaving first, Pariston has presented her with a pair of terrible options—remain, and face the questioning stares and uncomfortable questions of her colleagues, or leave, and avoid them, but in doing so follow _him_.

She makes her decision and spins on her heel, choosing to leave, the sounds of rushed footsteps and breathing and the _thwack_ of Saiyuu’s staff on the ground magnified to her sensitive ears.

Pariston is leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, his free hand stuffed into his pocket. As she passes him, he falls into step beside her, careful to rest his jacket over the shoulder not facing her, to keep from impeding his vision. He chuckles, and her ears twitch.

“I was thinking of getting a drink,” he says, slowly. “I thought you might want to join me.”

She doesn’t want his company, but a drink sounds more than appealing. She wonders if submitting to his subtle manipulation places her above it, or if in even this she is still playing right into his hand.

She doesn’t look at him, so she cannot tell if he is looking at her or not. “Only if you’re paying. Rat.”

He breathes out, and she can practically _feel_ his smile. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

She’s already planning to order the most expensive bottle of wine they have for the two of them to share. If he’s going to drag her down, she’ll do her best to make him pay for it, in any and every way she can.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Proioxis is one of the Greek personifications of war, specifically of onrush.
> 
> 2) Mini meta: I always thought it was awfully convenient that the Hunter Association headquarters building happens to have an auditorium that is exactly capable of housing the entire membership. In one episode, they show the ‘auditorium’ in bright lights, and I realized that it’s likely not an auditorium at all. All the composite pieces (stage, backstage, bleachers/seats) appear to have been constructed over this huge, empty space. I wondered what purpose then that this room could have, and decided that this was probably the place where the Zodiacs and Netero would spar! So I wrote a fanfic about it.
> 
> 3) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.


End file.
